Undone and Redone
by Mac-alicious
Summary: She is not a child and she has put away childish things, but in a different world, were she a different person, then she might have loved him. But then she wouldn't be her and he wouldn't be him, and she wouldn't. in this world, when they are who they are, there is only this: red dripping from her ledger and the necessity to wipe it clean somehow.


**A/N: **This is my first (perhaps only, we'll have to see) Avengers story. I saw the quote below written on a paper in my fanfiction idea folder and I immediately connected it to Natasha/Clint (Black Widow/Hawkeye). And this little story was born. Enjoy. R&R! Thanks! -Mac

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Avengers.

**Undone and Redone**

"When I come undone, you bring me back again."

o-O-o

It is not love, it is debt and repayment.

She is not a child and she has put away childish things, but in a different world, were she a different person, then she might have loved him. But then she wouldn't be her and he wouldn't be him, and she wouldn't. in this world, when they are who they are, there is only this: red dripping from her ledger and the necessity to wipe it clean somehow.

o-O-o

Shifting allegiance is has never been difficult for her. She is nothing if not _adaptable_. Self preservation is a mechanism she swears by.

He is different, though. He watches from a distance and sees the end coming before anyone else. Still he does what needs to be done. He does what is right, even if it is costly. Knowing him and how he is makes it even harder for her to understand how anything could compromise him in such a way. If there is something out there that is strong enough to turn _him_ against himself, then she has no idea how to combat it. But she'll be damned if she doesn't find him and try with everything she has.

o-O-o

There is chaos, gunshots and falling from the sky. There is the sound of twisting metal; screams, growls, moans of pain, the sound of dying; and the metallic scent and taste of blood. There is a monster unleashed, angry and violent. There are the first tendrils of cooperation between solder and maverick. There is physical separation, dispersion, but there is an abstract reformation happening in the undercurrent.

And then there is her and him.

They share a certain set of skills. They fight with fists and bullets and arrows. These are tangible things that she can understand—the cool touch of steel, the curl of a finger around a trigger; the clenched muscles in arms, legs and hands; the piercing bite of an arrow's tip. They do not boast of superpowers born of serums, gamma radiation, genius or other worlds. They match each other punch for punch, kick for kick; skin on skin, knuckle on knuckle. They break skin, draw blood, leave bruises. And when that does not work they resort to juvenile tactics of biting and hair pulling. For the first time, she seeks to wound even when her opponent seeks to kill. Then he takes a strike to the head.

Suddenly, his eyes are his own again. The haze that binds him is withdrawing and she has hope.

o-O-o

The feeling of being undone, she knows it and he knows she knows it. It is a badge that she wears under her skin. Now he wears it too. It is just another thing that they share.

o-O-o

He is guilty over who he was when he was not himself. He will turn himself inside out with anger, disgust and self-blame for the actions of the one that was not him, but there is no time for that now. She and the others need him to focus these feelings onto the one who made him become who he was when he was not himself. She more than any of them needs this, because she feels sick over the torment she alone recognizes in his eyes.

If it is vengeance that he needs—if that's where he needs to start—then she will do her part to get it for him.

o-O-o

Their team is more than just her and him, but he is the one she trusts with the life he let her keep. They fight as two parts of the same whole, just like in Budapest even if they remember it differently. Their preference of weapon differs, but they both aim true and strike the mark every time. A miscalculation, a miss, means death, and neither of them are dying this day—not if she has anything to say about it.

o-O-o

They are scattered but they are joined together by common purpose. They separate and come to each others' aid and part again—taking down enemies as they go. All the while, she feels secure knowing that he watches on from up high. His eyes on her, watching her back, is all the armor she needs. She is not worried for him. She worries for those who find themselves trained in his bull's-eye.

They all have jobs to do and she feels more confident that she'll succeed knowing he has eyes on her.

o-O-o

They win the battle, all of them, as a team—each of them an essential piece of the puzzle. The enemies have fallen and their leader taken captive.

It is only then that she recognizes how exhausted she is. Her body is tired, and her bones weary. She sees the same physical exhaustion in all of them, but she sees the mental exhaustion reflecting in his eyes. He has not had time to recover yet, and even given the time, it will be a long road back to full strength.

The team is triumphant, but as the city celebrates victory, they all crave a moment of quiet, of peace and rest. So they sit in the shawarma shop and for a brief span of time pretend that they are not the heroes of Earth—that their lives are simple, everyone stays who they are and no one is undone and redone. And when that fantasy evaporates, as New York rebuilds, he'll rebuild what he's lost and she'll be there each step of the way.

o-O-o

Later, when everyone has gone their separate ways, and they have returned to business as usual, he will find a moment alone with her.

"You brought me back," he'll say. It is a statement, a thank you, a promise. "I owe you so much."

"Consider it a debt repaid," she'll say.

"I think you overpaid."

They'll share a smile, because they both know they are still indebted to each other for far more than anyone could really hope to repay, but they'll spend as long as it takes trying.

o-O-o

It is not love, it is this: a cycle of one always owing the other. The scales tip in her favor for awhile, and then in his at another time.

They are bound together by a mutual debt. Their lives are intertwined by common purpose, woven together as they both try to wipe the slate clean. In another world, where she is not her and he is not him, there would be no death, no destruction and no dripping red ledgers, but they would not have this: the ability to bring the other back when their worlds come undone.

It is not love, it is a bond stronger than anything out of children's' stories.


End file.
